Under the Silence
by Bean12
Summary: Luke and Grace seem better together when they're not talking. Reposted because I’m an idiot who doesn’t understand the difference between edit and remove story.


A/N: Thank you to C8-H10-N4-O2 for the encouragement and VanillaBean75 the beta and just for putting up with my constant, nagging emails.

Spoilers: Specific for State of Grace, Silence and Book of Questions, anything else is implied knowledge of the episodes.

Disclaimer: Not mine. But if BH and Co. don't start being nicer to my favorite couple, I'm going to take up a collection.

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Under the Silence

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Love is the voice under all silences, the hope that has no opposite in fear…

- E.E. Cummings

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Luke steadied her when she had been about to fall off the folding chair, now doubling as a step stool. Grace had teetered and he had caught her. Just like he always did.

"What are you doing up there anyway?"

"My journal. With all those nosy relatives staying in my house for the Bat Mitzvah, I stashed it up here."

Had she not stretched that last little bit to grasp the book on the top storage shelves, Luke would have done the chivalrous thing and volunteered to do the retrieving. But as he opened his mouth to express that very sentiment, a familiar glint of silver caught his eye.

He did the only thing he could do, given the current situation. He tightened his grip on her hips, enough so she wouldn't fall but still allowing her to move. And brought his lips down around the belly ring that had launched more than it's fair share of fantasies.

The steel was momentarily cold on his tongue, her skin smelled like sandalwood but tasted like an addictive mix of salt and cinnamon.

Of all the days and all the times they had stolen a few moments of solitude in this quiet, albeit somewhat morbid, little sanctuary, Luke could not have ever predicted this scenario. He felt oddly calm with the adrenaline pulsing through him.

Senses heightened to some sort of super-human state, his universe narrowed to the contrast of dark and light. The flawless pale plane of her stomach book ended by the black leather of her jacket, deep navy of her jeans, all held in place by the gravitational pull of that tiny metal sphere.

He had always been intrigued by Grace's mind. How she could digress for hours on end about social injustice and the inherent imbalance of capitalist society. How she'd turn every conversation around as to not reveal a single detail about her life, but still express enough of herself to be uniquely Grace. But for the moment, Luke had regressed to an average guy and she was just incredibly _hot_.

And, amazingly enough, she was here with him.

This wasn't about science, or social struggles, political or familial. It was just Grace and his extreme luck to be able to get this close to her. Initially, he had worried that she would push him away. Alternatively, when he heard her barely audible sigh through clenched teeth, he couldn't contain the smile spreading across his otherwise occupied lips.

He could never tell her how he felt, she'd listen, maybe take him seriously, but she'd just roll her eyes and tell him to shut it. He could show her, make her feel it for herself. Grace was never impressed by what people said, only what they did. Which was why Luke was always in awe with the knowledge that she had confided in him of all people. He could never tell her that, never express himself in words. This was his chance to make her understand.

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Her mother had told her the day she came home with the navel ring that nice girls don't have body piercings. With a watery voice mom had warned her that someday it was going to come back to haunt her.

That day had come.

_Breathe._

She had to remind herself: Inhale. Exhale. It took considerable concentration to expel breath without letting loose the wanton moan that was just on the other side of her lips. Her mind was spinning; focusing on anything but the sensation of Luke's administrations was soon going to be completely out of the realm of her capabilities.

Her reaction to his touch would have been frightening had it not been so overwhelmingly pure, so startlingly right. It was as if she could sense every neuron firing throughout her body. She felt the texture of his tongue on her abdomen and could not control the outbreak of goose bumps that followed. The butterflies in her stomach had gone through a metamorphosis, waves of panicky pleasure rippled through her. His hands tightened their grip as he began tracing the line of her hipbones with his thumbs.

He was memorizing her tactilely, one millimeter at a time. She understood she was being coveted, worshiped, and adored. Although her knees were weak enough to have her questioning her ability to hold herself upright much longer, she knew he was acting more out of reverence for her than his desire. He was inspiring base biological needs in her, humbling her by showing her the power she held over him in that moment. Sensations she never knew existed.

Coherent thoughts were fast becoming impossible. Conversely it seemed as if her senses had been magnified. The pulsing of her heart in her ears was a tidal pull. She felt the blood in her veins rise in temperature, molten where his lips had curled into a smile against her.

He dragged his teeth lightly across her skin as her sucked the ring back into his mouth. She had an inane idea at that instant all her nerve endings were on top of her skin. She could feel… everything. The slight breeze from the ventilation system cooling her burning cheeks, the weight of her pendant on her not quite panting chest, the burning of her lungs from either not enough or too much oxygen, his warm breath tickling her stomach and the lines that make up his fingerprints branding themselves on her hips as he continued his caresses.

Her knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the shelf for support. The cool metal bit into her palms as she held on for dear life. She closed her eyes. The world swam again then steadied. This was not something he learned from a textbook, or any book for that matter, Luke had a natural talent, of that Grace was quite certain.

There is a subtle yet distinct difference between knowledge and wisdom. Knowledge was gleaned; wisdom was experienced.

"…_love is irrational. It's like this anesthetic goes off in your brain eliminating all reason... It's a natural state of imbalance built into the whole system…" _

Grace thought she knew what he had been talking about that night, now she could fully grasp the concept. The mind numbing fog was like a blanket around her, warm and inviting.

Her head flopped back on a limp neck. She pulled it upright, but like her eyelids, her reflexes were sluggish and uncooperative. Muscles she never knew existed jumped and trembled. . Exhilaration pulsed through her, radiating from her spine and sending distinct tingles to her fingertips and toes. Plate tectonics of the soul. Her traitorous heart was in her throat, just begging to be given away.

Anticipation and doubt raged a fierce battle in what was left of her conscious mind. How was it possible that she could be reduced to such a clichéd feminine state? Craving his touch, simultaneously wanting and fearing more intimate connection, the primal neediness tangled up in deeper, intellectual emotions.

But she trusted him. Trusted him with her secrets, knowing that he would never break her confidences. Trusted him with her heart, knowing he would never break that either.

She heard bells, felt weightless.

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Lifting her off her pseudo-pedestal he risked a glance up and encountered her eyes, dark and intense. . . and could not look away. He was trapped in her eyes, her smile, soft and loving was shining through that gaze. For just an instant he was convinced that she held the secrets to the universe. That every truth he had ever sought could be found in those eyes. If only he took the time to study them thoroughly. He felt the fine hairs on the nape come alive at her touch and squeezed her waist in an effort to bring her back to the present.

His voice was sticky in his throat. "That was the warning bell. We have to get to class."

Suddenly, her feet were on the floor, in one hand was her journal, she was sure her fingers were imprinted in the cover, her free hand was wrapped comfortably around his neck. She looked at him, silently smug and shy, and the moment stuck. The air was palpable, thick with all the words unsaid and she thought about saying them; getting them out first, just to be able to claim that small victory and render him speechless. But there was clarity in his eyes; he knew all he needed to.

He was overwhelmed by what she saw in her, but more, by what he was sure she could see in him. The boundaries had been broken, no endearments or promises or declarations, just a delicately monumental shift. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, she had tied his tongue.

Words had always been overrated.


End file.
